


where the sun sails and the moon walks

by lacunalady



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1937, Brooklyn, Bucky reads Steve the hobbit, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, TFATWS - Freeform, The Hobbit - Freeform, based on The Falcon and the Winter Soldier trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 19:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacunalady/pseuds/lacunalady
Summary: “In a hole in the ground,” Bucky begins nobly, “There lived a hobbit.”***Based on The Falcon and the Winter Soldier trailer where Bucky admits he read The Hobbit in 1937 when it first came out.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 13
Kudos: 82





	where the sun sails and the moon walks

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I saw that line in the trailer......I simply had to. I had fun with this ! I hope you enjoy!

The sun had long hid her face behind the clouds by the time Bucky strolled into the apartment door that evening. 

It was a theme, these past few weeks, Bucky coming home later and later. 

There had been extra hours available at the docks, he’d argued, and with winter just around the corner, they needed the extra cash to prepare for Steve’s inevitable annual bout of pneumonia, not to mention the extra cost of heating the apartment. 

Steve tried really hard not to think about that most days, about how hard Bucky worked just to keep them going, while Steve’s commissions and odd comic strips weren’t enough to keep food on the table, let alone a roof over their heads. 

Bucky’s work days were getting longer and longer, which meant his exhaustion had to be growing. 

Steve would have thought that Bucky would resent him for it, kept waiting for that day to come, but it never did.

But Bucky didn’t complain--would never do it in front of Steve, especially, Steve knew. Steve both loved and hated him for it. 

“M’home,” Bucky croons softly, his voice floating in through the apartment’s front door. It warms Steve’s chilled skin. He sits up in bed, pushing his damp hair off of his forehead and straightening his shirt, trying to look a little less like the dead thing he felt like. 

“In the bedroom,” Steve calls back, curling his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knobby knees. 

Bucky’s footsteps creak closer on the faulty wooden floors, and then stop at the threshold of the bedroom door. When Steve looks up, Bucky is standing with a horrified look on his face, as white as if he’d seen a ghost. 

“Stevie,” he swallows, shaking his head. 

Steve knows what he’s seeing--Steve curled up tight around himself, damp hair sticking to his forehead, a slight tremor to his body, and a half-empty mug of tea steaming beside him--all tell-tale signs of a cold. 

“No, it’s--it’s too early for you to be gettin’ sick.” 

“Can’t really control it,” Steve lifts then drops his narrow shoulders, not meeting Bucky’s horrified eyes. 

Guilt washes over him. He knows what it does to Bucky to see him sick, he knows that Bucky will throw himself into any work available, will run his body into the ground trying to scrounge up enough for medicine to help Steve feel just a bit better. 

“You were fine just this morning,” Bucky presses his lips together into a grim line. 

“I’m sorry, Buck. I really tried to be careful, I...I bundled up, and I’ve been--”

“Stevie,” Bucky says again, his voice a lot softer than the first time. The foot of their bed sags with Bucky’s weight, the springs groaning, and Bucky’s callused hands grab his. “I didn’t mean it like that, Ace. C’mon, I know it ain’t your fault. Just hate seein’ you like this, is all. Scares me.”

“I know,” Steve’s cool fingers grasp at Bucky’s with a fierce strength, needing the physical connection. “S’not that bad yet, though. Maybe it’ll pass.” 

“Maybe,” Bucky echoes, though there is a tone of disbelief colouring his voice. 

“My own body is workin’ against me  _ again,”  _ Steve sours, though he doesn’t loosen his grip on Bucky. Bucky’s hands are tainted with the dirty and grease of the docks, and he smells like the ocean and faintly of sweat. It’s not a bad smell. 

“Forget ‘bout it. You’ll pull through, you always do,” Bucky reassures him. 

_ Because you pull me through,  _ Steve wants to scream. But he just gives Bucky a tight-lipped smile. 

“Got you something,” Bucky murmurs, changing the subject. There is a sing-song quality to his voice that immediately makes Steve’s chest feel lighter. Hearing that youthfulness in Bucky’s tone made Steve come alive, reminding him of their childhood, of the ways things used to be easy. “You wanna see?” 

“A surprise?” Steve lifts his brows. If Bucky was spending money on  _ gifts  _ for him...they couldn’t afford such luxuries. 

“You wanna know what it is or not, punk?” Bucky chuckles. “Hmm?” 

“I--” Steve is struck by a coughing fit that must suffice for his reply. Bucky’s expression tightens as he rubs Steve’s back in slow, firm circles, his hand bumping over each ridge of Steve’s spine. He could count Steve’s ribs, Steve knew. 

“Okay,” Bucky says softly, shrugging out of his jacket and dumping it on the floor. He climbs up by the head of the bed, beside Steve, and tugs the smaller man into his arms. His voice had lost that youthful glow at hearing Steve’s wheezing coughs, but it’s still warm and familiar, as it always would be. “Okay, take it easy.” 

“What’s my surprise?” Steve rasps, letting his head sag back against Bucky’s neck, inhaling that familiar ocean-air smell. It seems to soothe his angry lungs, even if only for a moment or two. 

Steve can’t see Bucky’s face from this angle, but he swears he hears a smile in his voice when he says, “It’s a book.” 

Steve’s lips part. Books were luxuries, they--they were  _ treasures.  _

“No way,” He breathes, “You’re joking.” 

“Nope. One of the guys on the doc bought it for his sister but she didn’t want no part in readin’ it, so he sold it to me for cheap,” Bucky murmurs, sounding quite pleased with himself. He shifts a little under Steve, and then holds out the book for Steve to inspect. 

Steve gasps softly as he takes it in. 

The cover is a green-blue color, embossed with little waves at the top and bottom, and simple lettering:  _ The Hobbit.  _

Steve takes it from Bucky’s hands, testing its weight, and lets out a breathless little laugh, which results in another fit of coughs. 

“This is brand new,” He remarks softly. “I...can’t believe it.” 

Bucky presses his lips quickly to Steve’s head, and takes the book back with gentle fingers--it was as much of a kiss as Bucky ever gave him...and they never talked about it. 

Steve’s mouth goes a bit dry at the casual affection, though he knows he shouldn’t read into it. Bucky was just...a touch-oriented kind of person. Would brush a hand against the small of Steve’s back as he passed him, would ruffle Steve’s hair. And in turn, Steve would poke his arm playfully, would bump their shoulders together, would curl up in his lap and cry his eyes out about his Ma. 

Bucky settles a warm, large hand on Steve’s stomach, letting the blond catch his breath again before Bucky speaks. 

“Want me to read it to you?” He offers, excitement evident in his tone. 

_ You dork,  _ Steve wants to call him--because really, Bucky  _ is.  _ He’s the dorkiest guy Steve knows, and yet...he couldn’t ruin the joy of the moment by pointing that fact out, even if Bucky would know that it came from a place of adoration. 

So instead, Steve closes his eyes, and curls up small on Bucky’s lap, pressing his nose into Bucky’s neck and whispers: “I’d love that.” 

Bucky smiles into Steve’s hair, and then settles into the bed, getting comfortable. 

“In a hole in the ground,” Bucky begins nobly, “There lived a hobbit.” 

***

The next evening when Bucky comes home from work, Steve has dinner waiting,  _ The Hobbit  _ laid out in front of Bucky’s plate. Steve sits shyly across from it, hands folded on top of the table. 

“How’re you feeling?” Bucky demands, before even greeting Steve. He hangs up his coat and kicks off his boots in a hurry. That morning, Bucky had left for work before the sun was even up, and Steve had been too incoherent for conversation. 

“Better,” Steve admits, as Bucky walks into view, “I--was hoping we could read together again.” 

A slow, indulgent smile crosses Bucky’s face, and Steve finds himself smiling in response. Bucky looks good--a bit dirty, a bit tired, but there is a sparkle in his eyes and an extra jump in his step. Perhaps he’d been looking forward to their story time as much as Steve had been. 

“You liking the book so far?” Bucky confirms as he takes a seat, digging into the stew Steve had waiting for him. 

Steve had listened for an hour or so last night, before succumbing to sleep. He only faintly remembers being jostled awake as Bucky slid him off of his lap and tucked him into the bed, before curling up at his back, an arm slung lazily over his waist to keep away the chills. It was easier that way, sharing a bed. Steve got so cold at night, is all. 

“Very much,” Steve sniffles, though he really  _ did  _ feel better. He’d spent the day resting in the warmth of the bedroom, trying to sleep as much as he could so that when Bucky got home he’d have the energy to listen with all of his attention to the book. 

“You didn’t read any of it without me, did ya?” Bucky playfully narrows his gaze at Steve. 

“S’better when you do it,” Steve snorts, taking a bite off of his own plate, unable to help the blush that spreads across his face under Bucky’s assessing gaze. “You do the voices.” 

*** 

That night, Bucky did indeed do the voices--and the actions. He leapt around the furniture of their apartment, adopting strange accents and grandiose gestures as he told the story, book in one hand, sometimes a kitchen utensil as a prop or Steve’s hand in the other as he tugged the blond around the apartment, making a show of it.

And so for the next little while, it became a ritual. 

Bucky coming home, reading the story out loud to Steve, with all the vigour he could manage after a hard day at work. 

Sometimes, he’d dance about the space with a kind of animated magic, and sometimes, he’d settle in the bed beside Steve and murmur the words of the tale in that honey-sweet voice, a different kind of magic curling around them.

On more than one occasion, Bucky’s feet would drag like they weighed a hundred pounds as he walked through that door, his shoulders sagged, defeat on his face and weariness in his muscles. 

Those were the nights that Steve would run the bath, would help Bucky tug off his dirty work clothes, and would curl up on the tile floor while Bucky soaked his tired bones. Those were the nights that Steve would be the weaver of the magic, letting Bucky close his eyes and be transported, while he did his best to emulate the kind of ambiance that Bucky always managed to create when he read. 

On the last night, with Bucky’s head in his lap while Steve sat up in bed, Bucky spun the last little bit of adventure into the air around them. 

“You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world afterall!” Bucky murmurs, a tinge of sadness to his voice--Steve could empathize, weary that their journey through the story had come to an end. 

“Thank goodness,” Bucky continues softly, “Said Bilbo laughing, and handed him the tobacco jar.” 

“The end?” Steve whispers, afraid to hear that the adventure had come to a conclusion.

“The end,” Bucky confirmed closing the book and his eyes. Steve’s fingers stilled in his hair, where they had been lightly scratching at his scalp. 

There is a pregnant pause between them, both of them soaking in the beginning to the end, letting it wash over them like waves. It was done. The end. Their world awaited them, left with just a little less magic after the book had finished. 

And then Bucky opens his pale eyes again and meets Steve’s. 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He challenges mischievously.

Steve can’t help his answering grin, the sadness of the moment dissipating. His fingers resume their slow, even pace, combing through Bucky’s thick locks. 

“That you’re overdue for a haircut?” He muses playfully, ruffling Bucky’s hair at the front so it falls into his eyes. 

Bucky blows out a gust of breath that sends the hair right back out of his vision, and sticks his tongue out at Steve. 

“ _ Are  _ you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bucky questions again, with a wolfish kind of grin. 

Steve presses his lips together and lets a small giggle escape despite himself. 

“Yes,” He says confidently, settling further into his position propped up against the wall, the mattress squeaking a bit beneath them. He could read Bucky as well as any book, most days, and he knew what the man had in mind. “Please.” 

Bucky’s deft fingers flip through the pages lovingly, before he opens the book again, careful not to crack the spine. He clears his throat, and then begins: 

“In a hole in the ground,” Bucky murmurs, his voice like molasses. Steve’s fingers tug on his hair, gently urging out the knots he came across. The air is a comfortable kind of warm around them, and the sky is golden-orange outside the window, as the city settles down into evening from the bustle of the day. Steve never loved Brooklyn so much as he did then, with Bucky’s head in his lap, Bucky’s voice in his ears, and the promise of reliving adventure in Bucky’s hands. “There lived a hobbit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments & Kudos are always greatly appreciated <3


End file.
